


Blood and Steel

by DesertSkald



Series: A Dream of Dragons [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Champion of Cyrodiil's descendants, Dreamwalkers (Servants of Vaermina), Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Thalmor being evil, Work In Progress, alluded to (not actually in the story), shouldn't be more than 6 or 8 chapters - not a monster like Portents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertSkald/pseuds/DesertSkald
Summary: Tyraun Ice-Hammer, a retiring prefect in the Legion after the Great War, is given the most important assignment of his life: protecting and raising a legate's orphaned son.





	1. An Unexpected Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This could probably go in Oblivion? I don't know? It's really more Oblivion-related than Skyrim but I'm putting it in general because that's where it belongs.
> 
> Backstory for Broldan and Kieran's family, and one of the rare times we see Tyraun's POV (or Kieran's older siblings). Will eventually tie in with the rest of Dream of Dragons but it's an unrelated one-off for now. Tyraun's not a bad dude, even if he comes off that way in later works. Obviously between White-Gold and Portents/the rest of the series. (I will post White-Gold eventually. Once it's WRITTEN *shakes fist at muse*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B-B-B-BACK FROM THE DEAD, I'M THE SLEEPER DONE SLUMBERING-
> 
> So I finally finished Portents! (need to do a few minor edits to it here and there, but other than one minor plot [well, in Portents] update it's f i n i s h e d~ :DD) And I haven't posted a new chapter on Blood and Steel in a while cause I've been in the middle of rewriting it. When in doubt - or hit by a major writers block - rewrite. 
> 
> So I'm scrapping the previously posted chapters and starting over. I'm going to see if I can keep the bookmarks and stuff for everyone by just adding this new chapter and deleting the old ones.

FORT DRAGONCLAW would be complete by the time Tyraun Ice-Hammer retired in Sun’s Dusk. Tyraun chewed his lip and looked over the edge of the plans again, to the walkway the legionnaires were finishing. They’d finished the roads months ago, but part of the intersection was damaged last week.

  
“Should only need those two dozen paving stones, Xavier. Lysandus, go put the rest of them back and call it a day.”

  
“Yes, Prefect.”

  
Lysandus stood up and stretched his back, then took the second cart of paving stones back to the storehouse. Xavier sighed and filled his trowel with more grout, laying another brick down in the circle-patterned crossroads. The two legionnaires had been out here all afternoon, and being late autumn, the sun had set an hour ago.

  
Tyraun laid a hand on Xavier’s back. “I’ll put the last ones in. Go on back to the barracks.”

  
Xavier stopped and looked up at him blinking. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t hearing things. “Thank you, sir.”

  
Tyraun smiled and nodded, kneeling down to finish laying the bricks while the grout was still fresh. Xavier moved the rest of the bricks closer, so Tyraun didn’t have to move far to get more. When he started making more grout Tyraun shooed him away and the Imperial finally took the hint. They’d been at this long enough, and as the fort’s prefect, Tyraun was responsible for seeing that everything was done properly.

  
He didn’t mind the work: he’d done his time as a centurion of the last file, made it all the way to head of the first. Tyraun winced. One month from retirement, and he _still_ didn’t think he had enough years under his belt to earn this position as prefect. Especially not one overseeing a new fort’s construction, let alone the fort guarding the Pale Pass to Skyrim. But Legate Lerus would not be deterred. Tyraun was the only senior centurion within five years of the usual thirty required to earn that ‘easy’ year as prefect before retiring. (Legate Lerus said that, but Tyraun still had trouble believing it was true. Had they really lost that many in the war? Or over the Concordat?)

  
Still, when a legate demands something, you do it: so Tyraun took the position.

  
He looked over his shoulder as he got to the last brick, the central brick, making sure that he was alone in the courtyard. He’d specifically requested this brick from the mason: a nine-sided one. The man was a fellow Nord and refused the extra gold Tyraun tried to give him, saying that knowing what it was being used for was payment enough. Tyraun reached under his cuirass and inner tunic, pulling out the woven thread and the iron hammer dangling from it.

  
He pulled it off from around his neck and laid it reverently in the ground. He nudged it with his fingers, looking up at the perfectly aligned roads to make sure the handle faced north, and the hammer faced the elves to the south. Tyraun took out the palm sized phial of holy water and sprinkled it on the amulet and fresh dirt as he’d priests do for blessings. He wasn’t a priest, and he’d have a hard time finding one the Thalmor hadn’t arrested, so this secret consecration would have to do.

  
Tyraun sat back on his heels, staring down at the amulet. He looked around. Priests normally said some sort of blessing. He wasn’t an educated man; hated spending his days in the schools of Julianos when he could have been sword-fighting with his brother and sisters. Fancy talk was something better left to the officers. Still. Something had to be said.

  
Tyraun sighed. “Talos, I don’t give a damn what those pointy-eared bastards say: you’re still the Ninth Divine, and you always will be. We bloodied them but... well, you’d know better than I do.”

  
He wiped his hands on his tunic before wiping his mouth. He’d lost so many friends, so many men at Red Ring, and all the battles that came before it. He’d made sure he wouldn’t lose his family that last year, sending Ani and the kids up to her brother’s in Riften. They were safe behind the Jeralls, and Tyraun stayed with the Legion to make sure the elves never made it within sight of the pass.

  
But now the war was over, on less than favorable terms. Those same pointy-eared falmer had free reign to stick their noses in everything. They hadn’t been so bold before the war, playing coy and preferring cowards tactics like spying and bribery. They still used those, to be sure, but now they could strongarm the Legion or the nobles into helping. He didn’t like that one bit; it didn’t bode well for the next war.

  
“I’ll be honest with you, sir. These are my men. This fort? It’s going to protect my family, my friends, Skyrim, and maybe the Emperor again.”

“I know he’s not one of yours, but you lot were a tough act to follow.” He allowed himself a little laugh, but it trailed off and he bit his lip, raising a hopeful eyebrow at the amulet. “Won’t deny we’d be happy to see a Septim again, if you hid one somewhere.”

  
A warm southern wind picked up and Tyraun looked behind him. He felt foolish, actually letting his heart race that maybe the Divine had heard him. Reman was proclaimed Dragonborn not far north from here, in the old Akaviri ruin in the pass. Talos himself was discovered not too far away either, if one considered Old Hroldan in the Reach nearby. It was closer than Summerset anyways.

  
It was too fantastical for any Divine to answer such a ‘prayer’ so quickly.

  
Tyraun rubbed his nose. “Nah... probably not.” He sighed. “I’m sorry sir, I’m not good at this religious or consecration business. I’m just a soldier. But on behalf of us down here, we need your guidance more than ever, and your protection.”

  
He bowed his head over the hole in the ground. Bile came to his mouth, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of burying the amulet. It would be like burying Talos again. Tyraun shook it away. Talos wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t powerless. He was waiting. They’d wait until the elves thought they truly had the upper hand, and then. Then they’d show them.

  
“In your name.” Tyraun whispered.

  
He sat up and took the nine-sided stone and set it into the ground. It took some muscle to push it down, with the other stones already set and dried in the cold. A ripple of white burst from the central stone - the frost resisting enchantment the Legate asked for - and it broke into four waves rolling a half-inch high down the streets. A white flash and then darkness signaled that it had reached the gates: all the stones were properly sealed now.

  
Tyraun groaned and stood up, wiping dirt from his legs and leather skirt. He tapped the rolled-up fort plans against his leg. One day, he’d come back to Dragonclaw and pull that stone up, so everyone would know Talos was protecting them. One day they’d put a real shrine in the fort, where everyone could see it, instead of burying amulets in odd places like a squirrel. One day.

  
Tyraun sighed and walked back to the officer quarters. Someday.

  
The walk back down the corridors to his office was a long one, but at least it was warm. He’d get some supper later, after he’d tidied up the desk for the night. Tyraun pushed back a loose strand of blond and frowned, feeling at the braids. He’d have to redo them tonight; maybe after a bath. He hemmed and unlocked the door handle. A bath before bed sounded lovely.

  
The door opened and he frowned, staring into his office. The fire was already going, the fire-enchanted axe still glowing dim red next to the fireplace. A balding man in plainclothes looked up from shuffling _his_ papers on _his_ desk and beckoned with his hand.

  
“Come in.”

  
Tyraun stood in his doorway, glancing around the room. It was only the man inside, and he barely seemed to notice Tyraun. He’d hung a long damp coat by the fire, making the floor slick; there was a plate of bread, cold cuts and cheese with little of each remaining, and a glass of wine on his desk, but thankfully not on top of any papers. Tyraun’s eye twitched as he thought of the seemingly-messy system he had to his papers, and how this man had casually ruined them in the two hours he’d been away from his office.

  
But the door had been locked.

  
Tyraun stared down at it. The windows in his office were barely big enough for arrows, let alone a man, so he’d come in the door. Someone - one of the other officers - had let him in. The man had to know Tyraun was the prefect, but made himself at home anyways. So he outranked Tyraun then... but came in plainclothes.

  
Tyraun stepped inside and shut the door slowly behind him.

  
The man took a sip from his glass of wine, eyeing Tyraun over the rim of it. Tyraun settled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk - the one he gave to _his_ subordinates. Tyraun winced and tucked his knees in tighter. His _Imperial_ subordinates, who were a great deal smaller and less bulky than he was. He looked over at his chair, careful to keep his expression to one of longing rather than of resentment. He hoped whatever the man had to say, it was quick.

  
“Caius.”

  
The man extended a hand. Tyraun took it. Caius: was that his given name or his family’s? He doubted he’d get an answer if he pried. Tyraun opened his mouth to speak-

  
“I have a favor to ask of you. I can’t tell you all the details unless you agree, and you’ve every right to say no.”

  
Tyraun raised an eyebrow. Straight to the point then. Not normal for Imperials.

  
“Well, I can’t say that I’ll accept or decline anything sir, until I know more about it. I’m willing to listen to whatever you’re willing to tell me. -Sir.” Tyraun added.

  
“You’re retiring to Riften this winter, yes?”

  
Tyraun would have squirmed in his chair, if his legs wouldn’t have killed him for stabbing them with little needles. Anitra was besotted with Riften - her family’s ancestral home before the fire that burned half the city - and begged Tyraun once a week for them to move there. Sometimes more like once a night.

  
Kieran and Bree had never been there - they were born after the war - but Signy and Jurgen missed fishing on the lake, and Evana... well, she’d spent her afternoons picking wings off of butterflies, when her mother wasn’t watching, but Anitra insisted she was less dour in the lake town. That had to count for something.

  
Tyraun had joked with Lerus that week that it looked like they were moving to Riften. And now Caius knew. Curious, but... if Lerus trusted him, Tyraun would do the same.

  
“That’s what the wife plans, sir. We have family there, and mine lived there during the war. Was there something you needed from Riften, sir?”

  
“No.” Caius said, leaning forward and stroking his chin, looking down at the table. “But maybe you could take something with you.”

  
Caius picked up the wine glass and swirled it, watching it intently as his eyes watered. Tyraun kept quiet. The man would say whatever it was he wanted in time, or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, well, that wasn’t enough information to go on and superior or no, Tyraun would have to decline. Officers sometimes had weird tastes and wanted things like pedigree wolf-hounds (that were really wolves) or... illegal things that officers really should abstain from. Or large sums of gold or jewels for such things, which attracted bandits and Tyraun didn’t want to risk that with Ani and the children.

  
Caius set the glass down. “They went after a legate’s family.” He said, his voice breaking.

  
It wasn’t proper to walk around the table and give what was probably a legate or general - at least a tribune - a hug out of sympathy. That didn’t make sitting in the chair as the man sobbed quietly any less awkward. ‘They’ didn’t need to be stated aloud: obviously the elves. Caius wiped his eyes and took a sip of the wine to steel his nerves.

  
“They were good-” He swallowed a quiver in his throat, “friends of mine. His son’s the only one that survived. I can’t...”

  
Caius leaned forward and pulled the chair in closer, then leaned back into it and rested his elbow on its arm. Tyraun nodded slowly. An orphan. Lerus must have said he was good with kids - he and Ani had to be, they had five and a sixth on the way. Riften was probably far enough away that the Thalmor wouldn’t look for the boy.

  
He’d have to talk to Ani, but he couldn’t imagine she’d say no.

  
“They don’t know he survived. They _can’t_. He can’t stay with his father or relatives. And they’d know if my wife and I took him.”

  
“And my family’s far enough removed that us taking the boy won’t attract attention. And we’re moving to Riften besides, so no one should notice.”

  
“Exactly.” Caius nodded. He cursed and reached into his pocket for a kerchief.

  
“Anyone I know? Sir.” Tyraun asked softly.

  
Caius wiped his face and dabbed his nose, sniffling. He shook his head: not quite a yes, not quite a no. “In a way, but not personally.”

  
Tyraun breathed easy. So it wasn’t anyone from Bruma then. It was terrible news no matter what, but... at least it wasn’t one of his friends. He felt sorry for the boy, and the boy’s father. Damn the elves: murdering a family and tearing a son away from his father. Tyraun’s face fell. A legate’s son from his father.

  
“I’m...” Tyraun shook his head and spread his hands before bringing them back to rest on the chair’s arms. “I’m not a legate sir, my family isn’t that important. I don’t know that we could raise him to the standards he’s used to-”

  
“No no, he- his father won’t care about that.” Caius caught himself before he said more. From the way he bit his tongue, something identifiable. “They just want the boy safe. And if- if the boy decides he wants to join the Legion we can make you a tribune. -On paper. After your retirement. I- I couldn’t guarantee the pay but we can certainly see to it he would start as a tribune.”

  
Tyraun stared at him, then at the fire once he realized he was staring.

  
“And your children too. Your father and aunts served with distinction, we could certainly have them start as a thin-stripe.” Caius added hastily.

  
A thin-stripe tribune? Starting out as an officer learning directly under the legate? The prestige, the responsibility - the pay - that came with that... Tyraun leaned back as far as the chair would allow. He didn’t care much about getting the pay himself: he’d never expected it and would never feel he deserved it anyways. But Signy was already showing an interest in the Legion. His eldest followed him around the fort on quiet days, watching and learning.

  
He could easily learn how to do that with a legate. The boy would be an excellent tribune. Tyraun exhaled shakily. They would do this...?

  
“Well, if- if that’s what you and the boy’s father want to do - and it won’t draw the elves’ attention - I’ll trust your discretion. I’ll need to talk this over with my wife, if that’s alright, but...” Tyraun sighed, feeling tiny prickles run up and down his arms and legs, and not just from the chair. “I expect she’ll say yes. The boy needs a home, and we’ll give him one.”

  
“No, that’s fine. Please talk with her. And thank you.” Caius sniffled and held his hand out. Tyraun stared at it, then the kerchief in his other hand. Caius took the hint. He shook his head, repeating himself. “ _Thank you_.”

  
Caius stood, idly arranging the papers in front of him. Tyraun bit back a groan as he squeezed himself out of the chair - gods but he couldn’t feel his legs. He made a mental note to order a larger one. There weren’t many Nord legionnaires in Bruma still, but the fort might get some in the future, after he was gone. And he didn’t want anyone else of his build having to sit in such a tiny chair.

  
Caius set the papers down and collected his glass and his plate, clearing his throat. Tyraun stared at him, trying to decide if he was going to say something or if that was a verbal cue to get the door. Caius cleared his throat again but rubbed his neck, then walked to the door. Tyraun hurried ahead of him and opened the door. Then he thought better of it and pushed it to again.

  
“Sir? One question, if you can.”

  
Caius laughed, still some of the tears in his throat. “I hope I can answer it.”

  
“The boy, what’s his name?”

  
He wanted to know because Ani would ask, and if for some reason it appealed to her she’d be even more deadset on taking the boy in. He wasn’t expecting the panicked look on Caius’ face as if he’d just asked if the boy was a dremora or not.

  
“Brendan.” Caius blurted out after a long moment. He smiled and shook his head. Maybe he had... forgotten it? “His name is Brendan.”

  
“Brendan.” Tyraun repeated.

  
It was a good name, a solid name. Sounded right. He suspected Ani would like it. Tyraun nodded and opened the door.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“No, thank _you_.” Caius said, still trying to shake his hand despite the plate and wine glass in both hands. He glanced out into the hall then leaned in, speaking low. “We’ll contact you sometime before your ceremony in Sun’s Dusk. And thank you.”

  
Caius dipped his head - a tiny bow which made Tyraun pleased (an officer nodding his head to _him_?) - and walked off for the guest quarters. Tyraun walked him walk around the bend, then stood in the doorway, looking up and down the hall. No one had seen Caius leave. He went back into his office, shutting the door quietly. Probably best then.

  
Another son. Tyraun tilted his head and nodded, walking back to his desk to reorganize the papers. Another son, and his name was Brendan.


	2. On the Road At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just jumping all over the place with the update schedule, don't mind me :D

TURDAS morning came and Tyraun found himself laying beneath the covers, sleepily admiring the feel of the furs on his fingers. The bells of the Chapel of the Eight Divines down in Bruma echoed up the mountains, and the modest pair of bells in the fort’s chapel replied. Five in the morning. He sighed, continuing to stroke the furs and trying not to wake Anitra or Bree next to him, or Kieran at their feet.

  
He’d given Ani and Bree the edge of the bed because it was close to the fire, but it would make getting out of bed difficult. And if Bree woke up - or Kieran woke up - the other children would too. Tyraun trailed his fingers in a circle around a lighter spot in the fur’s pattern.

  
His retirement ceremony took place officially the Sundas before. However, his replacement had been delayed in Bravil, and Legate Lerus asked if Tyraun could stay long enough to do an actual handoff. Of course he could. Anytime a legate asks you to do something, you do it. Tyraun glanced over at the fire burning low. He hoped Elim would show up before the pass closed for the winter.

  
But he hoped Caius would show before that.

  
Tyraun carefully rolled over, laying on his side and looking up at the ceiling. Caius knew they were heading to Riften in the winter. It was nearly winter, and the only pass safe enough to take this late in the ‘autumn’ was the Pale Pass switchbacking through the Jeralls.

  
The man must know they couldn’t wait. He had to. He would come in time.

  
Ani stirred beside him, muttering to herself as her hand rubbed her belly. “Go back to sleep...”

  
Tyraun snorted quietly and moved closer to her, laying a hand on her hip. She sighed and relaxed into him. He kissed her chin, only to say ‘good morning’ and ‘I love you’, pausing when she moved his hand from her hip to her stomach.

  
“Tell your son to go back to sleep...” Ani grumbled.

  
“Oh? You’re so sure it’s a boy?”

  
“No lady would kick this much so early in the morning.”

  
Tyraun muffled his laugh in her neck, rubbing circles over the newest addition to their family as the baby kicked at his hand. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t love another son - the three he had were different enough that raising them was always something new. _Sometimes a challenge_ , he eyed the mound under the blankets at his feet. But he would have three sons - four with Brendan, when he came - and only two girls. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t _want_ another girl.

  
“Now see here, young man.” Tyraun whispered. “You listen to your mother and let her sleep. She puts in twice as much work as I do, raising the lot of you, keeping the house, and all that.”

  
“Twice is probably being generous. One and a half... maybe...” Anitra said.

  
“And you’re very lucky to have her as a mother.” She snorted at that. Tyraun grinned and kissed her chin again. “So behave. Go back to sleep.”

  
He held his hand still and the baby kept kicking, but after a minute or so the child gave up. Tyraun kissed Ani once more and moved his hand back to her hip.

  
Anitra sighed. “I should get up and make breakfast-”

  
“Absolutely not. We have cooks for that.” She rolled over just enough to glare at him. “Besides, you ran yourself ragged with Evana’s party, and the ceremony yesterday.”

  
“Your aunts and siblings wouldn’t let me alone to pack up the house. They insisted on doing it for me, I barely did anything besides point at furniture.”

  
“And that is very taxing business.” Tyraun nodded.

  
Anitra stared at him a long moment, trying to decide if he was being serious or attempting to humor her. She sighed and laid back against the furs. Bree moaned in her sleep but curled back against her mother.

  
“Well, I suppose I should trust a prefect to know what he’s talking about.”

  
Tyraun tucked his knees up and peeled the furs back, trying his best _not_ to disturb the toddler at their feet. Anitra watched him with one eye as he tried to climb over her, held up by a wobbling elbow and one leg-

  
“ _Don’t_ kick the pillow.” She growled.

  
“I won’t. I’m being very careful about your pillows, Ani dear.” Tyraun reassured her.

  
He made a point of putting his right foot on the edge of the mattress - a good six inches away from the pillow wedged between her knees. Tyraun gingerly shifted his weight to his right foot and tested it, then rolled until he was clear of her and Bree. He stepped down off the mattress and held his hands in the air when he’d finished with the morning acrobatics; Ani closed her eyes and nodded.

  
“Is there anything in particular you would like?”

  
“Fresh fruit.” Ani cleared her throat to try and chase the gruffness of her voice away. “I don’t know when we’re going to get fruit again in Skyrim.”

  
“As much as I can carry.” Tyraun nodded.

  
He looked over to the spare bed and confirmed that yes, Jurgen, Signy and the newly eight year old Evana were still asleep. If he brought back fruit for Ani, they would want something as well. Tyraun exhaled and changed into his prefect uniform, shaking off the odd hair-prickling at the back of his neck at wearing again it so soon after ‘retiring’. Legate Lerus had asked him to hang around, and he had. He would.

  
He would just feel better if he had _heard_ from Caius since their only meeting.

  
Tyraun closed the door as quietly as he could and shook his head. Caius would come. He hoped. He walked out the officer quarters and toward the common hall; while the officers had their own food fruit was something they didn’t have much of up in the Jeralls. Besides, it felt... like stealing, to take food from the officers when he was - on paper - retired. Yes, he’d earned it, but it still felt wrong.

  
And besides, he had been a prefect, and a centurion before that. His place was with the men.

  
The mess hall was moderately full for the half hour between five and five-thirty in the morning. A few of the men called out for his attention and waved; Tyraun smiled and waved back.

  
One of the primo centurions - Robert - was conversing with what looked like a snow-covered vagrant was helping himself to a bowl of porridge. Tyraun frowned, noting the pleated leather skirt over the thick winter trousers and under the fur coat. As the two talked the stranger’s face came more into view: a Dark Elf. Tyraun’s frown deepened.

  
Robert caught sight of him and pointed. The Dark Elf turned to him and smiled.

  
“Aah!” He tucked the bowl into the crook of his left arm and extended his right to shake hands with. “You must be Ice-Hammer.”

  
“Tyraun. And you must be Ellem.”

  
 “It’s _Elim_. Ee-lim.”

  
Tyraun nodded. “Elim.” To the elf’s credit, he only winced a little at what was surely another mispronunciation.

  
The two prefects, current and former, looked each other over, silently comparing themselves to the other. Robert saluted, his fist to his chest, and returned outside to manage his men. Elim smiled, two rows of teeth made even whiter against the blue-grey of his skin.

  
They didn’t get many Dark Elves in Bruma, not even after Red Mountain blew its top. He understood they were quite prevalent in Riften - there was even a Dark Elf thane or two the last he’d heard but... still. He didn’t think he would ever get used to just how strange they looked. How all elves looked, with their too thin faces and too thin bodies that had more magic in their little finger than he did in his entire body.

  
Not that a Nord needed magic when he had a good sword or strong axe in his hand, but he wouldn’t deny magic could be useful. It just wasn’t a thing Nords needed to bother with. That’s what Bretons like his father-in-law were for.

  
Elim squeezed his hand again, apparently done with his own observations. “I’m so sorry to catch you like this. I meant to be at your ceremony but something quite literally blew up in Bravil. One of the dock warehouses to be exact.”

  
“Everyone alright?”

  
“A few lost limbs, a worker or two they haven’t found yet. Grisly business.” Elim grimaced. “I’m praying none of that follows me up here. This place is downright peaceful.”

  
The Dark Elf looked around and up to the rafters; Tyraun followed his gaze. The air was crisp and cold, a sign of snow further up near the peaks, but inside the mess hall it was warm enough to put color in his cheeks. Tyraun had been south of Lake Rumare before the war, and even in winter the seas and Rumare’s rivers wore the damp and heat like a second skin. He wouldn’t deny that Bruma and the Jeralls were a welcome change from that for most, but he suspected Elim wouldn’t like the deep winter once he’d lived through it.

  
Still, Fort Dragonclaw and Bruma were both far removed from the troubles plaguing the rest of Cyrodiil, and had been less affected than the other counties. The Blades’ Cloud Ruler Temple had borne the brunt of the Dominion’s ire, but Bruma’s walls had held. There would be the odd restless troll or long winter storm, but this far north Fort Dragonclaw would be a quiet outpost. At least until the next war.

  
“It will be peaceful for the winter, so long as the stores hold out.”

  
“I’m sure they will. This is _quite_ the fort.”

  
Tyraun allowed himself the warm feeling in his chest and the slight swell of his lungs at the compliment. The fort was traditional Nordic masonry (a necessity this far up the Jeralls), but borrowed from the metropolitan south where practicality allowed it. Everything was stone, but the interiors could fool a traveling officer into feeling at home back in Skingrad or Imperial City. The interiors he couldn’t take credit for - the majority of that had been Legate Lerus’ doing. Some of the officer’s quarters were downright homely, even if he had decorated the prefect’s quarters with more sparse Nordic flair-

  
Tyraun’s eye twitched.

  
“I need to apologize, Elim. I would show you the prefect’s quarters but I have the children sleeping there at the moment-”

  
Elim scrunched up his face and waved his hands. “Oh no no, it’s more than alright. You wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t delayed, I’m sure. Moving everything back down to Bruma I shouldn’t wonder.”

  
“Actually, we’re leaving for Skyrim today, since you’re here-”

  
“You’re- _what?_ ” Elim’s eyes widened. Tyraun didn’t mean to stare, but- well he’d forgotten some Dark Elf eyes were red through and through. “The pass isn’t closed yet?”

  
Tyraun snapped himself out of the trance. They were only going this late in the autumn - early winter really - because they were taking Brendan. It _was_ suspicious to anyone who knew the pass and freak weather the Jeralls could be famous for. He didn’t need Elim prying into _why_ they were leaving so quickly, with small children and a pregnant wife to boot.

  
“It is. I have friends in Helgen.” Tyraun cleared his throat.

  
Elim pressed both hands to the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to keep you so late then. Please- don’t let me keep you further. I can familiarize myself with the fort and its men well enough on my own. Godspeed and gods keep you.”

  
He stuck his hand out and Tyraun shook it, not even bothering with the silent rank measuring they’d done earlier. For that matter, neither did Elim: as soon as they’d shaken twice he tapped his hand to his chest and hurried away.

  
Tyraun paused a moment, working out the best course of action. Elim was here, so they needed to vacate the prefect’s quarters. They _could_ vacate the prefect’s quarters and head north.

  
But Caius hadn’t shown yet.

  
Tyraun chewed his lip and walked outside the mess hall, studying the sky. A few clouds, none too heavy with rain or snow, but that could change quickly as they climbed further up the mountains. Tyraun glanced at the sun. The fort’s chapel bells hadn’t rung the half-hour yet, so they could make decent time if the children could be bundled into the cart before noon.

  
Caius hadn’t shown yet, but... it had been near a week since his retirement. Tyraun inhaled to try to stem his blood from running faster, to calm down. Most likely nothing had happened. Elim had been delayed; Caius could have been delayed too. There had been bad weather down south, and rumors of unrest in more than one county. Caius and the boy could have simply been delayed.

  
He could take his time packaging up the children and Anitra, without making it seem like he meant to, and give Caius more time. That really was all he could do, without attracting attention, while keeping his family safe.

  
Tyraun walked a few steps out of his way to the nine-sided stone in the middle of the intersection. He waited for a passing cart to clear the road, then knelt down and pressed his fingers to the stone, bowing his head as he did so. _Talos, guide my steps..._

  
Tyraun stood up and exhaled, walking down the road to the officer’s quarters. And past them, toward the western gate and the Silver Road. He stepped out from the shadow of the gate and looked south, hoping for little reason to see an Imperial and a small boy walking or riding up it. There was a snowshoe hopping around in the wormwood patch on the berm across the road. The pines rustled in the wind, but they and the snowshoe were the only signs of movement in the otherwise still morning.

  
He shook his head, peering down the road once more to see if maybe he’d missed something, but he hadn’t. Tyraun sighed and turned around.

  
And saw a horse riding down the Pale Pass side of the Silver Road toward the fort.

  
His heart jumped into his throat and Tyraun walked up the road, doing his best to not seem like he was hurrying. Under his breath he prayed, to Kynareth, to Mara, to Akatosh, but to Talos most of all, and he didn’t care if anyone heard him. The rider stiffened in the saddle as they drew nearer, despite Tyraun edging to the right side of the road-

  
“Who goes there?” The rider called out.

  
Tyraun swallowed to wet his throat. What were the odds this was Caius? He couldn’t remember much about the man other than he was a bald Imperial, a hard thing to confirm of this stranger wearing what looked like three cloaks and a knit facemask.

  
“The Prefect of this fort. Well, former-”

  
“Tyraun?” The rider held the reins back until the horse pulled her head back and stopped. “Oh Divines, I was worried something had happened.”

  
Tyraun nodded slowly and walked toward the horse. He recognized the tack as Legion gear - the deep red with gold stitching was frowned upon for civilians, even nobility, not in the Legion. The reins were handed to him and Caius climbed down, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. Caius reached under the cloaks and pulled down the facemask, a reassuring pale gleam of skin visible for a moment before the cloaks recovered it. Caius winced and bent his knees.

  
“Oh, I was expecting you days ago, is something wrong?”

  
“I- no.” Tyraun caught himself before adding ‘sir’. “My replacement was late in coming - he came a few minutes ago.”

  
“Oh good then.” Caius laughed and caught his breath. “Well, I have good timing then.”

  
Tyraun looked around and at the saddle. There wasn’t enough gear for Caius to have been riding long. And he was alone.

  
“Brendan isn’t with you?”

  
“No. We’re waiting up at the Pale Pass outpost.”

  
Tyraun frowned but wiped his mouth to hide it. He wouldn’t call the lone shack up at the true foot of the pass an ‘outpost’. There’d been talk from traveling legates and tribunes about putting another, smaller fort up there, purely to guard the pass itself where Dragonclaw guarded the pass and Bruma. An additional wall to throw at the Dominion if things truly came to the worst.

  
But that was just talk. Right now it barely qualified as a place of interest worth stopping for the night, and he more than suspected the place was a bear or troll den in the deep winter. However, if he was looking to hide away from scrying eyes, that empty shack was a perfect if desolate place to wait.

  
“We’ll be out in an hour or two.”

  
“I’ll hurry back then.” Caius sighed. He winced and climbed back into the saddle, both he and the horse protesting the return to their traveling drudgery.

  
“Let me fetch you some provisions for the-”

  
“No time. The longer we spend with the handoff, the more likely we’ll be noticed.”

  
Tyraun flinched. Of course. Right. That was more important.

  
“I understand.” He let the reins slip out of his hands as Caius wrapped them around his knuckles. Caius walked the horse around Tyraun.

  
“I’ll see you at the outpost. Gods speed you.”

  
Caius spurred the horse and galloped away, hurrying out of sight of the fort as soon as physically possible. Tyraun didn’t wait for that, turning and sprinting back for the gate, only slowing to a brisk march once he reached its shadow. If anyone asked, it was a friend from Helgen saying there was snow in the pass. He’d already told Elim he had friends up north keeping it clear. If anyone did some digging, it would be a reasonable enough answer that they shouldn’t pry further.

  
Tyraun went inside the officer quarters, blood burning in his veins at how slow he was walking, and pushed open his door.

  
“Da!” Kieran yelled from under the covers, the furs hiding everything but a toothy grin and some locks of black hair. The boy crawled down to the floor and toddled over to him, babbling with every step. “Da Da Da Da!”

  
Tyraun planted his foot in apprehension and let the three year old stop himself against his leg and latch on. Jurgen groaned from under the covers of the other bed and he could see Evana tuck the blankets around her head tighter. Ani sat up just enough to look over Bree’s head and smiled.

  
“Morning, love.” She frowned. “Breakfast?”

  
“Ah-” Tyraun winced, “Llendo finally came, weather kept him for days.”

  
Anitra’s face fell, but her eyes flashed. “That’s the last thing we needed?” She asked, stroking Bree’s hair.

  
“That’s the last thing we needed.”

  
Anitra exhaled, then gingerly crawled around Bree to fish for her boots.

  
“Come along, kids: pack your things.” Tyraun turned to the other bed, carrying Kieran around his left knee while the boy was giggling. “Jurgen. Signy. Come on, we’re leaving.”

  
Evana growled but threw the covers back, glaring at the ceiling as if it could give her a few more minutes sleep. Signy sighed from the far corner and sat up to roll his furs. Tyraun lifted his arms and looked down his leg. Kieran giggled and hugged his knee tighter.

  
“You too, young man. Help your mother pack up your things.”

  
“Yes Da!”

  
Kieran launched himself off Tyraun’s foot (Tyraun winced) and ran over toward Anitra, holding his arms out to take clothes to the chest. While Legion armor was made for marching and to be fought in (and ideal for the trip) Tyraun did put some longer trousers on underneath to keep his legs warm. He did a last minute check of the room - the desk drawer, the mantle, the shelves on the wall - to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything. He didn’t plan on ever coming back.

  
His three eldest had their trunk packed away before Ani’s, and Tyraun took it outside toward the stable. He had a decanus run inside for the other chests, and once the first trunk was secured in the wagon Tyraun hurried to the common hall. The chef already agreed to let him take the provisions they’d need to make it to the forts north of the Jeralls, even if he wouldn’t let Tyraun pay him for the food.

  
Tyraun stopped at the sight of the nearly empty bowl of fruit on the chef’s counter; only a few cragapples and questionable oranges were left after breakfast. He stroked the scruff of his beard and looked farther down the counter, where there were slices of roast pumpkin still warm from the ovens. _Pumpkin was a fruit_ , he told himself as he tucked a few slices into a kerchief. He was _mostly_ sure pumpkin was a fruit.

  
Two legionnaires insisted on putting off their mess duties to help him carry it all out to the wagon. Anitra and the children were already at the stables, all trunks accounted for, when they arrived.

  
“Thank you.” Tyraun exhaled, setting the sack of dry vegetables down under the bench.

  
“No, thank you, sir. Whatever you need.”

  
“Safe travels.” The blond Imperial nodded.

  
Tyraun shook their hands, and watched them leave while trying to dispel the odd twinge of sadness creeping up in his breast. They were good men, they all were. They’d served him well, and they’d do the same for Elim, he had no doubt of that. Tyraun glanced up at the sky: a few clouds hanging about the peaks. Dragonclaw had been his home for two years, and he’d seen it go from wooden palisades and dirt berms to the stone and timber it was today. Bruma and Bruma County had been his home, his world, all his life; all his children’s lives.

  
But now it was time to leave. Riften was behind the Jeralls, and if the Dominion somehow made it past all the forts the Empire was building, all the men it was training, the mountains at least would keep them safe. The Jeralls had stopped the Akaviri, Nordic warlords, the Ayleids, even the Dwemer from encroaching too far on either side of them. They would stop the Dominion too, if nothing else could.

  
He shook his head and walked around the wagon to the driver seat, handing Anitra the slices of roast pumpkin. She smiled; that half-disappointed smirk that told him pumpkin was, in fact, _not_ a fruit.

  
“I’ll get you real fruit in Riften, love.”

  
“Mm.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Are we all ready then?” She looked over the wagon, checking once again that all the children, trunks and winter kit were accounted for.

  
“Yay!” Kieran cried out, bouncing up and down on the bench. Signy rolled his eyes and laid a hand on the boy’s knees, trying and failing to keep him still.

  
“I’ll get the dogs and meet you at the gate.” Tyraun kissed her again and hopped down from the wagon’s driver seat.

  
He hurried away as the draft horses pulled the cart into motion, taking their time to let the harnesses settle and get up to speed. The kennels weren’t far from the stables; he wasn’t even out of breath when he reached them. Two elkhounds of the mixed pack in the kennel perked up as he appeared over their fence. Stuhn yipped and ran over, wagging a bushy red and white tail as he pawed at the gate. Tyraun grinned and rubbed the dog’s head, trying to angle his hand so Stuhn couldn’t lick his wrist as he did so. Tsun padded up to the fence, blinking and flinching at Stuhn’s tail slapping his face.

  
“Leaving sir?” The kennel master asked, resting his foot on the head of his spade.

  
“At long last. They weren’t trouble?” Tsun yawned and laid down out of reach of Stuhn’s tail. Stuhn whined for Tyraun’s attention.

  
“No sir, they got along fine with the others.”

  
The kennel master unlatched the gate and Stuhn bolted out of it. Tsun climbed to his feet and slipped through, letting the kennel master shut the gate before a few over-excited hounds could run out. Stuhn yipped and jumped, never quite putting his paws on Tyraun’s legs, pawing at the air before prancing around in a circle. Tsun sat at Tyraun’s feet, tossing a few pebbles as his tail wagged back and forth.

  
“ _Very_ happy to see you.” The kennel master said with a laugh.

  
“They’ll be happier to see the wife.” Tyraun chuckled.

  
He’d gotten the elkhounds for her when the Legion called him to the south of Bruma County. When the war started Signy was only three and Jurgen two, and Evana was born while he was away. Knowing that Ani had the hounds with her, if anything happened while he was down south, took some of the worry off his shoulders. They were really her dogs, but they at least answered to him and knew if he was around, Ani wasn’t far behind.

  
“Safe travels, Prefect.” The kennel master nodded and double-checked the kennel’s latch before heading back behind a shed.

  
Stuhn stopped prancing and panted, watching the man leave, looking to Tyraun for approval. Tyraun pointed to the western gate. “ _Fhwit._ ”

  
Stuhn took off at his whistle, yipping at first to call out his location, then going silent and putting all his energy into running. Tsun stood up, neck fur bristling, but kept pace with Tyraun. Stuhn stopped in the intersection, turned and knelt down, yipping twice before twirling and running again. Ani called out from the wagon; Stuhn yipped and didn’t stop, running straight for the wagon-

  
Stuhn jumped into the driver seat and Ani yelled out.

  
“ _Dog!_ Get- get down.”

  
“Stuhn!” Kieran yelled from the back of the wagon. “ _Stuhn!_ ”

  
Stuhn yipped and hopped down, running around and launching himself into the back with the children. Tyraun rolled his eyes but smiled at the peals of laughter as Stuhn licked Kieran’s face and the toddler tried to wrap his arms around the elkhound’s chest. Tsun and Tyraun caught up with the wagon just before the gate, walking behind it as they passed under the western gate’s shadow.

  
“Stuhn!” Kieran laughed-

  
“ _Stuhn._ ”

  
Tyraun snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground. Stuhn’s ears lowered with the rest of his head and he climbed down, glancing up at Tyraun and panting. Tsun sneezed and walked ahead to keep pace with the front wheels. Stuhn jumped and ran over to the other side of the wagon, padding along and looking around at the cold forest. Tyraun scratched his head and walked past him, climbing into the driver seat with Anitra.

  
“Say goodbye to Da’s fort, children.”

  
“Bye fort!” Kieran shouted, waving both hands out the back of the wagon.

  
“Goodbye fort.”

  
Tyraun smiled and squeezed Anitra’s hand. When the road curved he looked south one last time, barely seeing the stone walls of the fort and the Legion’s red banner through the trees. Anitra leaned over and kissed his cheek, then rested her head against his shoulder. Tyraun kissed her brow and squeezed her hand again, keeping an eye on the road ahead while listening to Evana and Kieran playing with Bree behind them.


End file.
